Warning: This story contains harsh and vulgar language, disturbing descriptions, and adult situations. This story is not for children and they should not be allowed to read it. Consider it rated “R”.
Frank opened his eyes. His mouth felt dry and thick. Looking down he saw the bottle of Jack Daniel’s tipped over on the floor and a large dried stain around it that used to be the liquid inside it.
“Fuck!” Frank cried out in despair. “Not my Jack!”
Frank sprung from the couch desperate to find anything that would absorb the expensive whisky so he could squeeze it back into the bottle. Running wildly towards the kitchen, Frank clipped an end table with his hip. The large pile of papers on it tumbled to the ground. A large picture spilled out onto the floor in front of him. Frank froze and stared at the picture. The face of young woman filled the paper. Holding up a placard of numbers, her face expressed both sadness and anger. The eyes of the woman stared harshly at the man. Frank stared back in equal hatred.
“Don’t bug me now, bitch!” He scolded. “You’re dead, just like candy, and there ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”
The lights flickered in response.
“You really think I believe that’s you?” Frank yelled as he spun around the flashing room. “This is a cheap-ass apartment. For all I know it’s shit wiring. You can’t prove nothing.”
Frank grabbed the picture and crumpled it up in his fist. “You’re dead! I won!”
Disgusted and drunk, he threw the crumpled piece of paper wildly.
“I won.” He repeated as he randomly opened up cabinet doors, looking for more booze.
The lights shut off completely as his hand fumbled around in the cabinet.
“Fuck!” He cursed as bottles crashed down upon the counter with a mix of powders and liquids.
Stumbling through the debris in the dark, Frank felt his way to the door.
“You don’t scare me.” He called to the air. “I won. You’re dead. I won. No one can prove nothin’. You ain’t even here. There’s nothin’ here. I’ll prove it! You’ll see.
Frank slammed the door as he stumbled into the hallway. “You’ll see.”
A small red light flicked on as a burner on the stove started to heat under the balled up picture.
“Give me a fifth of Jack.” Frank ordered through the inch thick bullet proof barrier.
“Forty bucks.” Came the cashier’s reply.
Frank fumbled with his wallet before sliding the bills over the tray, through the slot. “Give it to me.”
The cashier tended the money before taking a bottle and spinning it through turnstile.
A half-hearted “good bye” skipped past Frank’s ears as he walked out the door.
“I won.” He said with a smile as he untwisted the cap.
He threw his head back for a deep drink when a flickering light caught his eye. “My apartment!”
Cradling the bottle, Frank ran towards the building. People poured out of the doors as screams echoed through the streets. Frank looked up to see an explosion shatter the windows of his apartment.
“Fuckin whore!” Frank screamed as he ran to his car.
Diving in, Frank left in cloud of smoke and a shriek of tires as he tore down the road.
“You fucking whore!” Frank raged as he sawed at the wheel. “I’ll show you!”
Madonna sang, “You can’t hurt me now.” in response.
“Think you’re cute, don’t cha!” Frank said as skidded a hard turn left. “I’ll prove it. I show you I won.”
The radio switched stations and sang, “What’s it like” by Everlast.
“You had your shot.” Frank argued to the air. “You coulda had it so good, but you went and fucked it up! I had to fix it. You left me no choice.”
Pat Benetar wailed, “Hell is for children” as the radio changed again.
Frank side swiped a parked car before sliding over two lanes. “I had to do it. You couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut. You had to threaten me. Like anyone would believe a whore.”
Anne Wilson cried, “What about love?”
“You were a whore!” Frank spat into the air. “You were a goddammed hash smokin’, booze drinkin’ whore! I woulda paid to shut you up if you’d just listen.”
Frank skidded across three lanes as he hit a sharp right.
“But you didn’t.” He continued. “You tried to talk, so I had to kill you. You’re dead and I won. You hear that bitch! I won!”
The speakers blasted “Burning down the house” as Frank howled in anger.
“Mother fucker! I’m gonna kill you!” Frank screamed in full fury as the battered car roared towards a burned out shell of a building. “I’m gonna kill you!”
The car plowed through the brick wall before diving down into the basement. Unbuckled, Franks chest collapsed the rim of the steering wheel before impaling itself on the steering column.
Blood spouted out of Frank’s mouth as his eyes glazed forward.
A pale image flickered before him.
“I killed you.” He whispered. “I won”
Frank’s body convulsed, then went limp.
Deputy Tucker was scribbling on his clipboard when the sound of brakes and a flashing light caught his attention.
“Detective Murphy.” He said in surprise. “What are you doing here? This is just routine accident. Another DUI/DRT. You don’t need to waste your time here.”
The detective looked past the man towards the wreckage. “I heard on the radio and had to see for myself.”
Two EMTs wheeled a covered body past them as Detective Murphy ordered them to halt.
“You know this man?” Deputy Tucker asked as Murphy inspected the body.
“Yes.” He answered. “I know him. This is the case that killed his career. “A woman was killed here ten years ago. A prostitute named Mandy. She burned to death in her apartment. Never found out who it was.”
The Deputy shook his head. “Hmm. Nasty way to go.”
“It was worse.” Murphy continued. “When the autopsy was done, we found out it was a double homicide. She was pregnant when she died.”
“City’s harder than Hell.” Tucker commented. “Ever find the dad?”